


Animal

by Schm0use



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Humor, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/Schm0use
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony believes it's high time Thor learned how to dance. And also that the band Def Leppard does not, in fact, involve leopards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal

**Author's Note:**

> In 2012, after having just seen the Avengers some 4 or 5 times, I went on a ten day trip with my parents to Africa. This trip involved a lot of 6 - 8 hour drives across the Savanna, which I spent staring out of the window while listening to the Avengers soundtrack and Def Leppard's Hysteria album, and thus this fic was spawned. It's a little silly.
> 
> I got home and lost the courage to post it entirely, but Age of Ultron reminded me about it. 
> 
> The song used for the fic is, of course, "Animal", off Hysteria.

He doesn’t understand how people can work without music.

Pepper likes it dead quiet in the office and all the silence nearly drives him crazy, so he always starts tapping his feet and snapping his fingers, and by the time he’s patting out drum rolls on tables, she’s usually kicking him out of the room.

So when he’s in the lab or in his garage, it is blaringly, almost painfully loud. Now he’s at peace, he’s at home as shredded guitar riffs and heavy drum beats pulsate through the room, one of his favorite songs serenading him while he works. He bobs his head and shuffles his feet under the table, oh yeah, this is the good stuff. Never happier.

“Tony Stark.”

Tony just barely manages not to roll his eyes at the way Thor still calls him by his full name. It’s been _months_ and he says it like it’s one full word— _Tonystark_ —and Tony’s actually not sure whether it’s just a formality or if the Asgardian still hasn’t realized that he’s doing it wrong.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony watches as Bruce starts in on a sly smirk. He kicks at him under the table and Bruce slides away in his swivel chair, dodging effortlessly.

"Son of Stark—perhaps you have not heard me—”

“Yes, Thor?”

Thor likes to drop by the lab every once in awhile. He just looks and looks at all the technology, he likes to sit in front of the screens and go on long “walks” with JARVIS, following one topic of interest to the next, starting off with something as Thor-like as ancient medieval weaponry and ending up on videos of adorable red pandas some hours later. For all of Asgard’s advancement, they have not invented anything as enthralling as the Internet.

Tony glances beyond the steady blue flame of his welding torch, focusing on the brooding figure of the God of Thunder over the sparks. It’s not often Thor looks hesitant or confused, but he seems to be both right now, staring at Tony with his brows knit together.

Tony turns off the torch.

“You like this song very much, I think.”

The sound of pure eighties filters over the sound system. _[A wild ride, over stony ground… Such a lust for life, the circus comes to town…]_ Tony grins.

“Yeah, this is a great song.”

“But it is not by your AC/DC.”

Bruce snorts. “You taught him to recognize AC/DC by ear?”

“It was important.” Tony retorts, not without a hint of pride. To Thor, he says, “No, this is Def Leppard. Wait, have I never played them for you? Because that would be a crime.”

“You have not. Tell me, how did the leopard become deaf?” Thor asks earnestly.

“Yeah, Tony, how did that happen?” Bruce asks innocently, and Tony points the welder at him.

“You are unhelpful. Thor, it didn’t—” Tony shakes his head. “It’s not an actual leopard.”

He’s losing him.

“I don’t… understand…”

“Okay, you know what? Nevermind. Not important. JARVIS, restart the track.” Tony snaps his fingers. “We need to take this from the top. Come here, guys.” He takes up a position in the center of the room. Thor joins him, still lost. “Bruce, come on, let’s go. We don’t have all day.”

Bruce peers at them over his glasses. “What do you need me for, exactly?”

“I’m teaching you both how to properly appreciate Def Leppard.”

Thor opens his mouth.

“It’s not a leopard, Thor, forget the leopard.”

“I _like_ this song already.” Bruce protests. “Pretty big fan when I was growing up, actually.”

“You _were_ a fan? Don’t like that young people’s music anymore?”

“It’s actually _not_ young people’s music, at this point.”

“Nonsense.” Tony gives him a squinty-eyed look and crooks a finger. Bruce sighs and takes off his glasses. He’s never managed to say no to Tony successfully when the man gets like this.

“Okay, get in position.” Tony orders as Bruce walks over. “Knees bent, arm out like so. Stay loose— _loose_ , Thor. Are you a warrior, or a weakling?”

Tony’s really getting into the drill sergeant thing, Bruce notices with dismay. This will not end well. Thor, for his part, is taking no chances besmirching his warrior honor. He bends his knees and extends his arm like a champ.

_[Just like a river runs… like a fire needs flame—]_

“Here it comes!” Tony yells. “Get ready!”

_[I burn for you—!]_

He thrusts his arm out in a half circle, jerking his finger and head to the beat in a move Thor would later learn is called the Greased Lightning. Bruce can’t stop himself; he bursts into laughter as Tony enthusiastically mouths the words and shakes his hips.

“Your turn—go, _go_ , you’re missing the beat!” Tony flails his hands at them and Thor jumps to action, fumbling through the move. Bruce tries to shake his head no, because he _doesn’t_ _dance_ , but Tony grabs his arm and puppeteers him through the dance.

_[And I want – and I need – and I lust – ANIMAL]_

Tony doesn’t let go of him at the chorus, trying to turn the dance into a horrible salsa.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asks dryly.

“Pepper’s not here.” Tony says, like that’s actually a valid answer.

“So I’m your stand-in for _Pepper_?”

“Uh, yeah, you should know this by now.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m feeling threatened.” Bruce says, as seriously as he can manage, as Tony attempts to dip him and he steadfastly resists. “The Other Guy is so not okay with this.”

“Those are lies.” Tony says, and now he’s trying to force Bruce into a twirl. He must be stopped. “Hulk loves to dance, I can tell. He’s very light on his feet.”

Bruce snorts, but gives that one to Tony and lets himself be spun, because he knows his obvious bluff has been called.

Tony smirks. “Please, I _know_ you.”

And this is also true, because they are nothing if not alike.

“Tony?” A voice interrupts, right on the beginning of the second chorus. Perfect timing for Miss Potts, who stands in the doorway wide-eyed. This is not the weirdest thing she’s seen in Stark Tower over the past couple months, but then again, Thor is dancing.

“Pepper!” Tony cries happily, and Bruce foists him off on her so he can catch his breath.

“What are you doing?” Pepper asks as Tony dances towards her. She glances suspiciously at the scientists’ area in the back of the room, where several as-yet-to-be-determined experiments are lying dormant, chemicals scattered around the table. “…Are you—”

“Not high, unless you count on life.” Tony takes her hands. “We’re teaching Thor how to dance.”

Pepper stares over his shoulder at Thor, who is still resolutely practicing his one learned dance move in the background. “Are you sure about that?”

“It’s a work in progress.” Tony replies smoothly. “And now, you’re here to help us.”

While they aren’t looking, Thor swoops down to snatch up an unsuspecting and unpartnered Bruce.

“Why always me?” Bruce asks the room at large.

“You smell nice.” Thor says, completely serious, so Bruce settles for giving him a look that suggests he’s about to have a very annoyed, very green dancing partner on his hands in a few seconds. Thor just grins cheekily at him.

Tony, meanwhile, is working on convincing Pepper to join their little dance club.

“Come on. You love this song.”

“Don’t you have reports to write up for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I have—no idea what you’re talking about—” Tony turns her around to face the other two. “Here comes the part again—show her, guys!”

_[I gotta feel it in my blood, whoa oh—]_

_[I need your touch don't need your love, whoa oh—]_

Pepper has no choice but to laugh and laugh at Bruce’s reluctant motions alongside Thor’s impassioned dancing. She joins them halfway through.

“Bruce, put some feeling into it!” She teases.

“You’re letting us down, Banner.” Tony agrees, and Bruce finally cracks.

“Fine.” He says. Then nods in Thor’s direction. “But if we’re gonna do this…”

Pepper nods. “We at least need to teach him something else, because that is just…”

Thor is still obsessively Greased Lightning-ing. They stare at him.

“Dr. Banner, Miss Potts,” Tony says, all solemn seriousness and fancy footwork, “you are absolutely right.”

***

In the basement of Stark Tower, Natasha and Clint circle each other like wildcats, neither of them willing to make the first move. Clint knows she’s waiting for him to strike first—to find her opening, and he’s not going for it.

“Come on, Nat.” He goads her. “Gonna stand there all day?”

She considers. “Definitely not.”

He sometimes wonders whether she actually has superpowers she hasn’t told anyone about. She moves, he counters, realizes a split second too late that she’s feinting—shit. She’s a blur, he’s blocking somewhere totally wrong as her other hand shoots out and grabs the back of his head, yanking it forward and down, far enough for her to vault up and get her legs around his neck.

They go down in a storm of cursing (all Clint) and a tangle of limbs. He’s not hurt in the slightest because that’s how good Natasha is, but his head is trapped between her thighs and while most people wouldn’t think of complaining in such a situation, he swears bloody murder because it means he lost.

“Sonofabitch.” He mutters, craning his neck to look up at her. She adjusts her position, squashing his face into the mat and folds his arm behind his back.

“Say it.” She demands.

“ _No_.”

There’s a crackle, a static fizzle, and the gym’s intercom comes to life. Tony’s voice, loud and clear, echoes around them:

“Agents Romanov and Barton… Cap.” There is some kind of racket going on in the background, but all Natasha can make out is what she thinks might be Thor, laughing like a madman. “You’re all needed in the penthouse office. Please come quickly, it’s urgent. Stark out.”

“Did he really just say 'Stark out'?” Natasha wonders.

“Maybe we should go check it out.” Clint chokes.

“Maybe you should call uncle.”

“I’m not giving up. We’ll just pick this up again after we see what Stark wants. You can even leg lock me and everything.”

“Uh huh.”

“He said it was urgent.”

“He never calls us ‘agents’ unless he’s trying to get us to do something ridiculous, and you know it.”

There’s a moment of silence. Clint’s face starts to turn an interesting shade of magenta.

“Okay, uncle, _uncle_.”

***

They arrive on the scene and Natasha’s first immediate thought is _oh no, we were too late_. The rest of her teammates, minus Steve, plus Pepper, are lined up in the middle of the room while Stark prances about in front of them like it’s a beginner’s ballet class. “Here we go!” Tony says gleefully. “Five, six, seven, eight!”

“They have a routine.” Natasha says faintly. “They are dancing, and that is actual choreography.”

“I _love_ this song!” Clint cries from next to her, at which point she gives up.

They’ve attracted—lord help them—Tony’s attention. “Agents! You’re here, good, good.” In response to Natasha’s unasked question: “We’re teaching Thor how to dance.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s going too well.” Natasha says, feigning disinterest. Look, one of them has to try and act normal, okay.

“Ease up on the guy.” Tony scolds. “I’d say he’s coming along nicely.”

“I wasn’t actually talking about him.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at their would-be dance teacher. Tony looks utterly affronted.

“Are you suggesting my teaching abilities are at fault?!”

When Natasha doesn’t answer, he settles for giving her the stink eye, walking backwards to stand in front of his pupils.

“Guys?” Tony spreads his arms in a classic Stark I’m-about-to-do-some-impressive-shit pose. “We have what one might call dissent within the ranks. Let’s put those feelings to rest, shall we? _Ah-five, six, seven, eight_ —”

Tony launches into a routine—a completely different routine than the one he’d just taught—and the other stumble along behind him, totally lost. Natasha rolls her eyes. No wonder they aren’t learning.

“Okay, stop, stop.” She says, waving her hands.

“What?” Tony snaps, voice surly.

“That’s completely wrong.”

“ _You’re_ wrong.” Tony fires back, like the mature adult he definitely is. “Are you saying I don’t know my own routine?”

“Yes.”

Tony gasps out an offended little “uh!”. Natasha decides there are more important things at stake here than pride—hers or Tony’s.

“Look, last time you started like this,” she demonstrates. “Then you went here—” She proceeds through the entire dance flawlessly, and somehow manages to make it look good.

Tony scoffs. “What? I would never come up with something so…” He turns to find the others all nodding in agreement. Tony points at them accusingly. “Ah, see! _Dissent_! Mutiny!”

Bruce shrugs. “Well, she’s right.”

 _Traitor_ , Tony mouths at him, then spins to face Natasha. “How did you even learn that so fast?”

“I’m professionally trained in fourteen different styles of ballroom dance.” She shrugs. “It just comes naturally to me.

“Fourteen different— _why_?” Clint asks, mouth open.

“She’s a classy assassin.” Tony says. “A Class—”

“Don’t say classassin.” Natasha shuts him down just in time.

“I wasn’t going to—fine.” Tony glares. “Anyway, you could stand to take a few pages out of her book, Robin Hood.”

“Here we go.” Clint says. “For the record, I think I'm the only one here besides Thor excited about this.”

“Whatever, Sir Erpingham.” Tony makes a sweeping bow. “The floor is yours, Agent Romanov.”

As Natasha takes her spot at the head of the group, Tony falls back between Pepper and Bruce.

“ _Sir Erpingham_?” Bruce asks incredulously. “Have you even read _Henry V_?”

“I think in tenth grade.” Tony says. “But there’s also this thing called Google now, try to keep up.”

Natasha holds up a hand, counting out the beat. “Five, six. Five, six, seven, eight!”

***

A wailing guitar solo cuts through Steve’s concentration for what must be the twenty or twenty-first time that afternoon. For at least the twenty or twenty-first time, he accidentally snaps the pencil he’s holding in half.

That is _it_ , he decides. It’s obvious no one else is going to fill out the paperwork for the lease on the Avenger’s new beach house in Barbados, and they are going to lose the place soon—and he _likes_ that house, dammit.

The party is just going to have to wait until he’s done.

***

He strides into the office with his game face on and notices first and foremost that Tony has donned the Iron Man suit and is also pelvic thrusting vigorously. He and Bruce are back to back, air-guitaring, except they are actually ‘holding’ holographic guitars in their hands and Steve briefly despairs because he had thought he could at least count on JARVIS to keep a lid on things, even if the magical house voice _was_ built by Tony.

Pepper and Natasha are in a girls-only corner, rocking out together, hair flying in all directions. Pepper has lost the ponytail and her heels long ago.

Clint is demonstrating some truly terrible seventies-era dance moves to Thor, who is so focused on learning them he looks like he’s trying to lay an egg.

“Uh oh.” Tony says, helmet popping up as he glances over and sees a thoroughly unamused Cap standing in the doorway. He spins around Bruce’s back surreptitiously, trying to hide behind him. The attempt fails spectacularly, as the Iron Man suit is half a foot taller than the diminutive doctor. “Daddy’s home.”

“Your dance party.” Bruce says unhelpfully, leaving him out to dry. Tony suspects it’s because he’s having too much fun air-guitaring to stop.

Steve watches as Tony squares his shoulders and walks over.

“Hey, Cap.”

“Tony. Can you turn it down?”

“Uh, no. Nope—but if you joined us, I think you’ll find—”

“Don’t you have S.H.I.E.L.D. reports you’re supposed to be finishing?” Steve asks sternly. Tony changes tactics almost instantly.

“Mommy!” He calls over his shoulder. “MOM.”

Bruce sighs and drops his light guitar to join the conversation. Belatedly, he realizes he’s just responded to Mommy, which is something he should not be encouraging from Tony, at all.

“Why am I mommy?” He asks upon reaching them.

“You smell nice.” Tony answers. Bruce throws up his hands as Steve nods. “Really, what is that?” Tony continues, trying to sniff him. Bruce presses a hand over Tony’s face, pushing him away, while Steve watches, amused.

“Sorry, Steve. Are we being too loud?” Bruce asks.

Steve sighs, and Tony grins like the little shit he is, because he knows the Captain has a serious soft spot for one Dr. Banner.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go down a few floors—”

“No, we can turn it down, Steve, it’s no problem—”

Tony rolls his eyes, because if he doesn’t stop them they’ll go on trying to out-polite each other forever. He dodges past Bruce’s hand barrier to say, “Get him to dance,” into Bruce’s ear.

“ _You_ get him to.”

“To what?” Steve quirks one corner of his mouth in an almost smile. “Leave?”

“No!” Tony says quickly, and actually feels a little bad. “Come on, Rogers. One dance—I know the song’s a little after your time, but I mean, even Thor’s getting really good…”

Steve glances at Thor doubtfully. He can’t really say if the Asgardian is getting really good or not, but Tony seems pleased.

“He’s disturbingly good at shakin’ it.” Tony adds appraisingly, and from watching Thor, Steve can only assume the ‘it’ Tony is referring to is Thor’s rear end. “Don’t be a wet blanket.” Tony wheedles, and now he’s pelvic thrusting again, in Steve’s direction, so Steve has no choice but to be led away to what he can only assume is his doom.

“ _One_ dance, Tony.” He says.

“Sure, sure. JARVIS, from the top! Natasha, get over here, we’ve got a dance to teach.”

***

They greased lightning.

_[I got to feel it in my blood, woah-oh—]_

_[I need your touch, don’t need your love, woah-oh—]_

They’ve played it so many times that even Cap knows the dance now.

_[And I want]_

Step forward, two claps above the head, step back, one down below.

_[And I need - and I lust]_

Spin in place, POINT. (Tony always yells point there. He likes this part.)

_[Animal]_

Hold that pose and _strut your stuff_ forward. Bruce and Clint have developed a great little shoulder bob for that one.

The ending repeats the chorus and they are prepared. Thor leads off, facing to the side, one hand on his hip. He points dramatically to the front on the beat. Clint next, and he punctuates his point with a rocker-esque wink and nod of his head. Natasha follows him, trying not to smirk; she fails, because wow—this group actually managed to learn the damn dance.

Tony, naturally, is in the middle—he gets to point with both hands like the diva he is. Pepper is after him, having a hard time holding a straight face; she keeps bursting into stifled giggles. Then Bruce, who also can’t stop laughing because _what are they doing_? They are insane. If Fury walked in right then, he’s pretty sure they’d all be fired.

Steve finishes off their little segment, grinning broadly—because he’s _dancing_. And it’s _fun_.

“SHAKE IT.” Tony yells, as they all jump and spin. And proceed to shake the hell out of it. This is Tony’s dance, after all, so a fair amount of ass wiggling is to be expected.

“ _Take me, tame me, make me your animal_ —” Tony belts, floating majestically off the ground in his suit like a drunken superpowered cabaret singer. “ _Show meee, stroke meee_ —”

_[Let me be your – animal!]_

The music drops out, but please, they’ve all listened to this song roughly two dozen times now—they know what’s coming. The guitar kicks back in for the last nine seconds of partying as they kick with it, one last burst of energy before it all ends in a glorious blaze of echoing vocals.

For a moment they all just stand there, because that was a perfect run—no one out of step or off beat. What now?

Appropriately, it’s Thor who breaks the silence.

“ANOTHER.” He bellows.

Tony nods. “Right. JARVIS, why don’t you Pour Some Sugar On Me?”

“But sir… the consultation reports for Mr. Fury…”

“Screw ‘em.” Tony waves a hand dismissively, but not before glancing sideways at Steve, who’d had his ‘just one dance’ four dances ago.

Steve shrugs. “JARVIS? Play the song.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Absolutely no work gets done that day, consultation or otherwise.

 


End file.
